In the Reading-room of the _Cercle_ there ought to be (as advertised in a local journal) at least three English newspapers daily. I have not seen them as yet. The only London paper arriving here regularly, and to be purchased every day early at the Newsvendor's, is the _Morning Post_. _Vive_ Sir ALGERNON! Can this be the attraction for Lord SALISBURY? Why come out so far afield to read the _Morning Post_? Or wasn't it here, during Lord SALISBURY'S visit last year, and is he still ignorant of its having been subsequently demanded and supplied this season? And when he comes and finds it--"O what a surprise!"--no, thank goodness, we have escaped from this song--for a time, at least. * * * * * Too hot to write any more journal. The hundredth bell is sounding for the fiftieth _dejeuner_. My _dejeuner_ is finished. There are bells here perpetually. All day and all night. In vain would Mr. IRVING as _Mathias_, put his hands to his ears and close the windows. The bells! The bells! Distant bells, near bells, sheep-bells, goat-bells, a man with pipe (not tobacco but tune, or what he and the goats consider a tune), dinner-bells, guests'-bells, servants'-bells, church-bells (not much), chapel-bells (early and occasionally), horse-bells, donkey-bells, breakfast-bells, supper-bells, arrival-bells, departure-bells, tramway bells, crier's-bells, with variations on drum or trumpet, and several other bells that I shall notice in the course of the twenty-four hours, but have forgotten just now. * * * * * The "_petits chevaux_" have not been stopped by the Government; they are running as fast as ever. There are two bands, playing morning, afternoon, and evening. The _Casino Samie_ is as lively as ever, or, as my waggish acquaintance at once expressed it, in that vein of humour for which he is so specially distinguished, "The Samie old game," and to sit out in the garden, with a fragrant cigar and coffee, before retiring for the night, is indeed a calm pleasure, or would be but for the aforesaid waggishness, of which more anon. * * * * * Soldiers about everywhere, Boulangering. Up in the hills is a splendid echo. This morning, having caught the very slightest cold, I went up into the mountains to get it blown away. Suddenly I sneezed. Such a sneeze! It reverberated all over the mountain like the firing of a battery. Again! again! These sneezes nearly shook me off the rock, and sent me staggering on to the _plateau_ below. The effect must have been alarming, as the third sneeze fetched out the military, horse and foot, at full gallop, and the double. _L'ennemi? C'etait moi!_ They scoured the mountain sides, but I did not sneeze again. I have a sort of idea that my sneeze upset the entire preconcerted arrangements for a review. The Boulangerers retired--so did I. * * * * *